Empath for Hire
by A.J. RENT
Summary: Everyone looking over their shoulder and Renegades taking a third glance to anyone who resembled any of the Anarchist members. Renegades distracted, people take control of the city under their noses. Many that are prodigies who refuse to be the wannabe image of a renegade. Darion being one of them, deciding to bring a new meaning to 'Renegade' of his own.


Sitting on a bench at the bus stop, and counting the minutes until the bus would arrive. There were others doing the same, keeping to could read them all, and not able to ignore as well, every power had a downside after all.

The closer ones were the easiest to sense. Next to him, a backpack, nothing flashy, no pins or tags to decorate the murky-green material. The owner placed it between them, creating a little bubble of composure for himself.

Sensing others is no trouble, he wouldn't have to put effort into looking for them. Didn't affect him, though the people closest would impact him the most. Backpack guy was the closest, without looking, he read him.

"_He's calm?"_

Finding someone calm, sadly, is rare to see, or rather 'sense' in his case. Not complaining, this is a nice change. For Darion, the guy was a nice air freshener, temporarily blocking out the crap he felt today.

The guy's leg started jumping up and down, a tapping sound to go along with it. Skipping to the next person, being caught in someone else's feelings are damaging, he knew from personal experience. Not fun.

Next, a girl leaning on the metal wall that had the bus routes.

"_Furious. Same from yesterday."_

Hearing the taps as he paid attention to her.

_Tap. Tap._

Darion knows her. Maya. She hardly ever speaks, when she does, she'll speak a sentence. Maybe. She'd act like this with him anyways.

_Pause. Tap. Pause._

_"Would she be willing to talk about it?"_

_Pause. Tap._

_"Would she be okay talking about it?"_

_ . Pause. Tap. Pause. Pause._

Darion started tapping his fingers on the metal bunch, following the same rhythm the guy was doing. Focusing on what he was doing and not on others. With each tap he made, a ting came after.

_Ting~.Ting~._

Small tremors coming off each tap he made_._

_Pause. Ting~. Pause._

The bench was uncomfortable, standing would be better. He didn't move though, and still tapped to the rhythm_. _Darion slouched to find comfort.

_Pause. Ting~_

Staying in someone else's head would screw up his own, it's happened before, and it wasn't a pretty sight.

The tapping came to a stop, three pauses, then started back up.

_Ting~_

Stopping once again, seemed like the end of it.

_"Where's the bus?"_

Getting up, and peering around the corner to get a better view. The bus was there, after it being an hour late, ready to pick us up as soon as the traffic light turns Maya's spot near the bus map, since she swooped in to take his seat when he got up. Glancing at the map, Darion quickly snapped a photo of it. Any second now till the light turns green, and for the bus to be in front of them.

Tapping started again, with the same beat. Other than the tapping, the car's driving by, and the random conversation people would have on the streets, it was quiet. Everyone was either on their phones or silently being patient. The bus came, finally. Doors opening, messaging us to get inside.

On the bus, already passed through central, and heading out of downtown and into the more 'rural' areas of Gatlon, where people lived to stay close to the city without actually being in it. Viewing the outside, and cruising by the sculpture of the city's founder. The copper tarnish over time, two centuries and a half to be accurate. From the renegade tower, apartment complexes on every other block, florists, book stores, to in home salons, shabby parking lots, corner stores that Darion been in at least once in his life.

Sometimes passing the occasional boarded up house, abandoned, a waste of space. Eventually the houses would be bulldozed, and be replaced with something that can be useful. Most of the money went back into the city, Darion doubted that the city council would bother to rebuild a few houses.

_"They've been here longer than I've been alive. I'd disappear first before they would."_

Switching his phone on to see the map photo. Keeping track of his route, a yellow line, that cut through the other routes. Two more stops from where he needed to be.

Like the bus-top, the atmosphere was stilled. The bus itself wasn't great either. When Darion got on, he saw the condition of the seats, every one of them had a small tear of their fabric, exposing the foam underneath. As well as a pungent odor coming when he sat down. Not awful smelling, the fragrance of vanilla perfume, but there was something as having too much. Ignoring that, the bus was nice, not too much of a crowd. However, the city could put some more money into public transportation.

The bus stops. Opening its doors, a new passenger gets in, while a guy gets up front the seat ahead of him, unintentionally spooking Darion, and steps out, taking scent of vanilla going with him.

_"When the hell?" _

Looking out the window to see the guy walk away from the bus stop and disappearing into the building in front of it.

" _GOD, that smell, why didn't I notice before we got on the bus."_

The aroma wasn't lost, it lingered on the seat he sat. The bus started back on it's route.

"_Why am I thinking about this?" _

Just as she thought it, my phone started buzzing. Seeing the caller I.D., he slid the green phone icon and answered with 'what'.

A second in, his friend starts complaining, "You take forever."

" I'll tell the bus driver to drive faster then." Next stop wasn't far , "Five minutes, just wait." Hanging up.

Finally at the last stop, Darion got out and walked ten more minutes to get where he needed to be. At the back gate of the 'yard', looking at the metal gate was grimier than he remembered it being. It's red paint chipping away gradually over time, revealing the silver undertone below. Each side connected to wooden fences, which were aged and broken from the bottom.

Covering his hands with the black sleeves of the jacket, pushing the gate forward, there was no handle. The hinges of the gate had springs attached, that forcefully recoiled the door back to being closed. It wouldn't open easily, having to add a little muscle to push through. One final push, leaving the gate open halfway, enough for him to pass. Sliding inside, holding the gate back, not allowing the gap to lessen. Letting go, Darion saw his sleeves covered in specks of red, almost like ladybugs if it weren't for them falling off one by one. Stepping inside, he let go, the gate immediately went back into place.

The city built this place as a sort of nature reserve or plant sanctuary, didn't last long. At first, people voted for a plant sanctuary, in other words, a garden, and some even volunteered to start it up themselves. Using the monthly budget the city provided, the volunteers spent the majority on construction, and used the leftover to buy herbs, being the cheapest and easiest to grow. Next month's budget never came however, and the project was soon canceled because of 'budgeting issues'.

Since the place was deemed shut down, Darion and his friend turned it into their own personal scrapyard. Storing car parts Darion's collected and giving some his friend could use on her cars. His friend preferred to hoard everything against the fences, giving herself room to work on her latest project in the middle. Walking along the dirt path, familiar with how the dirt made his shoes sink with each step, and having the grass gliding against his knees.

This was excellent soil to plant things, and the weeds took advantage of it. Seeing dandelions randomly, walking by a cluster of nutsedge that tangled a hubcap with its long leaf blades, strapping it onto the ground. Number one that took over , Foxtail Grass, the six inch weeds with the bristles on top. More showed up as he walked further into the scrap yard.


End file.
